


an entry wound in the night would make a hole wide as morning

by the_ocean_weekender



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Friendship, Greek Chorus Jim Kirk, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Psychological Trauma, Vulcan Mind Melds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21782317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ocean_weekender/pseuds/the_ocean_weekender
Summary: In the aftermath of 'Mirror Mirror', Spock offends Bones, kisses him, offends him again. He helps him out with having a mind meld forced on him too, but that's kind of secondary to his love life by this point. They both exasperate Jim a LOT.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 14
Kudos: 79
Collections: Star Trek Holidays 2019





	an entry wound in the night would make a hole wide as morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AMintJulep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMintJulep/gifts).

> Title from Ocean Vuong  
No archive warnings apply, but this is the 'post mirror mirror forced mind meld' fic I think everyone in the TOS fandom is obligated to make so there is some psychological trauma. Bones also has a potty mouth

“Doctor,” Spock says, beginning to lose patience. “This plan has a ninety two percent chance of success, which decreases the more you delay.”

“Just give me one more darn minute, wouldya?” snaps McCoy, not looking up from the med-kit on his lap. Spock has no better understanding of what he’s doing except for counting how many hypo sprays are left, an action he has already completed twice. Even accounting for the circumstances, the amount of reluctance the doctor is showing is unusual.

As the opening of the tunnel nears so too does the chance of failure. “Doctor,” he repeats urgently.

With a huff, McCoy shuts the med-kit and beckons him closer. “Fine!” Spock does not believe this situation to lie within the parameters of ‘fine’, but this is no time for debate. The Arntuks are a remarkable species and their idea to have all those departing their planet do so by electronic train cars through a terminal capable of reading brain waves is ingenious by any objective standard- as had been explained to the landing party at the diplomatic dinner, any life form that would cause harm or commit any sort of crime may do so, but the terminal will scan their minds and prevent them ever leaving the planet, forcing them to live with their actions. What had only become clear when he and McCoy were about to leave the planet by the trains was that human and Vulcan brain waves were so different from those of the Arntuks that without a fire wall on their car, they would be deemed automatically as ‘criminals’ and there was a chance, depending upon the computer programme determining what crime they had ostensibly done, that they would be killed.

Before his fingers have even come into contact with his face, McCoy is frowning and complaining, “I don’t like this Vulcan Voodoo.”

Spock raises an eyebrow, “Regardless, Doctor, if I do not put us both into a trance to alter our brain waves, we risk dying.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, damn it- get on with it then!” he snaps, and Spock marvels at the illogic of human emotions. Possibly, he rationalises, this temper is rooted in the sleeplessness evident in the dark circles under his eyes.

“Of course, Doctor, please remain still.... My mind to yours...” the colour drains from his face as his eyes close and his chin slumps to his chest. Seating himself on the bench besides him, Spock begins to meditate and feels his mind slip away just as the train enters the terminal.

***

Upon opening his eyes, he is greeted by the smiling face of Jim. Spock relaxes minutely- this is of course a logical reaction, for seeing Jim means that he and the doctor have both survived and the ship and crew are well. “Captain,” he greets, observing with interest the geometric patterns that twist up the walls to the ceiling of the terminal and the lack of the rest of the landing party they arrived with. “Where is Doctor McCoy?”

Jim points a thumb over his shoulder, “Bones is kinda cranky after a nap.”

It is then that he hears McCoy; surprising that he is already awake as Spock thought he would have had to perform another mind meld in order to wake him, but it appears that the doctor has regained consciousness of his own volition. Given how reluctant he was to participate in a mind meld, perhaps it is not surprising that he woke as soon as he was able.

“Damn Tuesdays,” McCoy complains. “First the dress uniform, then that green-blooded fool poking around in my brain and _now_ I have to use the transporter again. Brilliant, just brilliant.”

Jim rolls his eyes and extends a hand to help Spock stand. It is an unnecessary gesture, but Spock accepts anyway for it is a kind one. “You know, Bones, if you hadn’t been late getting the train back then you could have gone without the mind meld.”

“Don’t you pull that with me, I couldn’t leave that woman without medical attention!”

“She was already a patient in the hospital, Bones; I think she would have been fine- Kirk to _Enterprise_, three to beam up.”

Spock waits for them to rematerialize, “Whilst perhaps unnecessary, Captain, Doctor McCoy’s actions have at least improved diplomatic relations with the Arntuks. Perhaps as well it has shown a need for them to introduce a ‘fail-safe’ into their technology to be able to alter trains mid-journey, lest such a thing happen again.”

McCoy and Jim both stare at him, an expression on their faces he identifies as ‘amazed’. Jim lets out a low whistle, “Shit, Spock, I think you just _agreed_ with Bones.”

McCoy, meanwhile, is looking perturbed, “I don’t like it.”

“I must confess, Doctor, I find that illogical given how many times you have complained that I disagree with you.”

“’Illogical’? I’ll give you illogical you little-“

“_Gentlemen_,” Jim intervenes smoothly. “Whilst I’d love to stay and referee, I’m due on the Bridge to give our farewell speech. Can I trust you two to play nice whilst I’m gone?”

He looks at McCoy who looks back at him. Finally, McCoy rolls his eyes dramatically, “I guess.”

They bid goodbye to Jim at the door to the transporter room and continue down the hall to the turbo lift. Something within Spock beseeches him to make conversation. He knows not what it is, despite 41.6 hours of meditation dedicated to the subject, only that it has been there for several weeks and relates specifically to Doctor McCoy. “Have you any plans for this evening now your shift has ended, Doctor?”

“After making sure Sickbay’s still in one piece, you mean? No, but I was thinking of turning in early.”

Fascinating. Most humans after a trance find they are refreshed enough not to require sleep; it seems this is yet another instance where McCoy stands out from other humans. Closer analysis as the lift doors close and the wait to reach G Deck begins allows Spock to see the age of the shadows under his eyes and the slump to his shoulders and the way he holds his hands tightly behind his back. Recalling McCoy’s averseness to the mind meld, it is logical to think that he is suffering emotionally to the experience. Whether his next actions are illogical or logical Spock cannot work out, but he tries to comfort him with the usual insults they trade with one another, thinking a return to familiarity will help.

“Perhaps, then, you may consider writing your report. On average you submit reports 3.7 weeks late.”

“Lay off, you pointy-eared hobgoblin. The report’ll get done when it gets done.”

“Doctor, you never cease to amaze me in how you can point out the obvious. How so many of your patients have faith in your medical skills is a topic that requires an in-depth study.”

As soon as he says it, Spock knows it was the wrong thing to say and immediately tries to analyse _why_. Within the context of their friendship, similar comments are made on average 2.3 times a day and never made McCoy’s mouth twist down like this. He refuses to analyse why saying the wrong thing _matters _to him.

“Yeah?” the lift has stopped but neither of them makes any move to leave. McCoy's hands are clenched into fists at his sides. “That’s what you think, is it?”

Without hesitation, he begins to apologize, “Doctor-“

“’Doctor’!” he shouts back. “You’re damn right I’m a doctor! And maybe I’d submit my reports on time if I didn’t have to pen a line or two between the people I’m fixing fromyour cold-hearted decision making!”

“I meant no-“

With unnecessary force, he smacks the button to open the doors and storms out of the lift. “Tell that to the air and go to hell, you cold-blooded hobgoblin.”

***

Eight minutes before alpha shift is due to finish the next day, Spock is pulled away from the computer terminal analysing the Arntuk’s technological capabilities by Jim’s voice hailing him from the comm panel.

“Captain Kirk to Commander Spock.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Are you busy after your shift?”

“Negative, Captain. Your quarters?”

Twelve minutes after this interaction, he is seated across Jim’s desk with a cup of English Breakfast tea that was a gift from Scott. Pleasantries have been exchanged- quickly, given that they both work on the same star ship and have the same knowledge of what has happened today- and Jim leans forward in his chair, rests his elbows on the table and sighs deeply. “I’ll get to the point, Spock: have you seen Bones at all today?”

“Negative, Captain. I assumed that he was avoiding the Bridge.” Which is really code for _avoiding me_ and Jim knows it.

“Yeah, he, uh, he’s asked me to tell you that he apologizes. Apparently he told you to ‘go to hell’ last night.”

Despite the situation, amusement flickers across Jim’s face. Spock raises an eyebrow the way, if he were human, he would shrug. “Given that the doctor was several yards away from me, I factored in the chance that I could have misheard. In light of the comment I made, however, it was an emotional but understandable reaction.”

Jim leans further forward, “That’s just it, Spock! He came here last night after I finished the talk with the Arntuks and it had upset him- _really_ upset him, and it can’t just be that. I mean you mind melded, did you get any idea of what else could be bugging him?”

It was the same conclusion Spock came to meditating last night: something is wrong with Doctor McCoy. He thinks seriously about the mind meld; although it is the first he has done with McCoy there is still useful information to be gathered. “His mind was very… raw,” Spock replies at length. “Despite the doctor’s penchant for outward displays of emotion, there was very little information to be gleamed from the surface. Nothing specific was made known to me.” He steeples his fingers together and thinks, but that is the entirety of his meld with the doctor. It was of little consequence on a wider scale; on Vulcan it would be classed as ‘average’. The only unusual thing of note was the contrast between McCoy’s outward demeanour and how quiet his mind had been- Spock had been preparing himself for an onslaught of thoughts and feelings and there had been nothing. Texts in the Vulcan Academy rarely covered melds with humans however, if Spock was to say anything with _gut instinct_, he would say that McCoy’s mind had been shying away from his. But why would that be the case? Only in cases of-

“Oh” Spock says without meaning to. It is nowhere near enough evidence to be definite, but if his suspicions _are_ correct…

“What do you think?” asks Jim eagerly, the happy hope on his face giving Spock a feeling near to whiplash.

“I have a hypothesis. However… Jim, if I’m correct it would be inappropriate for me to divulge this with you before I have talked to Doctor McCoy in person.”

The way his captain deflates pains him but Spock refuses to bend. If his suspicions _are_ correct…

“Alright,” Jim sighs. “It’s not alright, but alright. How do we help Bones?”

“I believe that the doctor is concerned for his mental faculties, however I am puzzled by his reluctance to talk. Surely he understands that as the only telepath on-board, I am best-suited for him to approach with this problem?”

“You’re not factoring in one thing, Spock.”

“Oh?” he feels almost insulted and is sure Jim can tell from his raised eyebrow.

“Bones _needs_ to work. I’m not saying it’s healthy, but he does. Whatever’s wrong with him, Spock, you’ve got to let him be a doctor. There’s- there’s things I can’t tell you, things I promised him I wouldn’t tell anybody.”

“You and Doctor McCoy have been friends for a long time,” he acknowledges. What Jim is saying matches up with McCoy’s anger last night.

“Yeah, I can- I can tell you that Bones needs his duty and maybe- maybe- I think, if you are right, he’s scared that you’ll take one look at him and declare him mad or unfit for duty. And he’s not- not at the moment, anyway, his work is still impeccable. He’s a grumpy bastard but that’s never been against the rules.”

Everything Jim is saying is aligning within him like an eclipse. It’s _logical_.

“I believe I understand. Permission to go and fix our CMO, Jim?”

This time when Jim smiles, it’s like the sun coming out. “Permission granted. And Spock?”He turns at the door, hand hovering over the button. “There’s something else I swore I wouldn’t tell you but… it’s a good thing, I promise.”

Spock frowns, “Yes, Captain.”

***

Just before he can press the door chime, the door to McCoy’s quarters slides open and the man himself stands there, one hand round a glass tumbler and the other gripping the wall so tight his knuckles are white and almost bursting out of his skin. “Ah shit,” he says, wavering slightly. For one moment Spock thinks he is inebriated then dismisses the idea out of hand: McCoy is on duty tomorrow. “Jim sent you.”

_That is an illogical statement, given how you were obviously observing the corridor expecting I would come_. Spock stays silent- the last time he said the word ‘illogical’ around McCoy the results were less than desirable. Without looking him in the eyes he turns round and leaves the door open, “Guess you better come in, then. You want a drink?”

“I want-“ the door slides shut behind him and he observes the room before allowing his gaze to wander back to the blue shirt and McCoy’s back “-to apologize.”

A careless hand gesture and a clink as he unstoppers the decanter and pours another glass full of alcohol- at a guess, Spock would say brandy. “I owe you an apology for overreacting, Spock, let’s just not talk about it again.”

“There are other things I feel are necessary to discuss beside the conflict of last night.”

“What makes you think I wanna talk about them, either?” snorts McCoy; when he turns round there is none of the previous weariness on his face, just the friendly vitriol they share for one another and he crosses over to where Spock still stands by the door and hands over the glass. Spock raises his own hand 0.89 inches higher than necessary so that their fingers brush when he accepts the tumbler. They share more than friendly vitriol, it is friendship, it is- there are no words outside of the Vulcan language to succinctly describe the fluid relationship of friendship deepening into attraction and blossoming into love that also correctly portrays the _desire_ for this to happen, but it is that. And whatever is wrong with his friend he wants to help, and he understands that for McCoy, touch is an intrinsic part of comfort. 

“Because I believe you want to tell someone- tell a friend- desperately. It is, as Jim would say, ‘eating you up’ and you want to tell somebody.”

McCoy’s hand twitches slightly, so that his fingers are curling over Spock’s own. Emotion slowly spreads over his face, one Spock can’t decipher. At last he asks, head tilted, “Jim _really_ sent you? What did he say?”

Taking the welcoming of physical contact as a positive indication, he tells the truth. “Jim is concerned about you; I could not divulge my private conclusions on what I thought the problem was, but he seemed satisfied with that answer. Before I left he told me that there were many things he’d sworn to you he would not discuss.”

“Why couldn’t you tell him what you thought, Spock?”

His skin is growing warm where it is in contact with McCoy’s. “Because.” He has to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry and the air inexplicably thin. “They were private thoughts about you.” He intended to say ‘conclusions’ and now his last sentence seems less truthful and yet somehow more so simultaneously. His entire body is growing warmer- logical: McCoy is stepping even closer to him, ‘closer’ being relative given their already near proximity to one another. Spock can feel his breath on his cheek and with a shock realises McCoy will be able to feel the same.

“Private thoughts?” Spock nods. McCoy moves closer. “Tell me,” and then they are kissing. It feels like a mouth on his, it feels like he is kissing someone, he is kissing McCoy and-

“Leonard,” he murmurs. He feels… soft. He breaks away slightly- 1.28 inches, giving just enough room that Spock can speak. “How am I meant to tell you if you’re kissing me?”

“The kiss was the answer,” Leonard whispers; he pulls away even further but his expression is equally soft. His eyes dance over Spock’s face and as his smile begins to stretch the corners of his mouth he pulls both of Spock’s hands with his up to his mouth and kisses his fingers. “My God, Spock, that’s the best answer you could have given me.”

On his next exhale, Spock leans closer into the feel of Leonard’s hands, “The sentiment is entirely mutual.” A different emotion twists his face into a different smile. Still happy, but… remorseful? He keeps hold of Spock’s hands but he steps back even further and Spock knows whatever the moment was, it has ended. He takes the abandoned tumbler from the desk and downs its golden contents in one swig and squeezes his fingers tighter briefly before he looks away and puts the glass back down. “Is something wrong?” The thought brings discomfort.

“No,” and he is still smiling so the words logically ought to ring truthful yet somehow they don’t. at his sceptical look, Leonard brings his fingers up to his mouth and kisses every knuckle. “It’s just I’m a gentleman, Spock, I want to do this _right_, not just- not just passion, though there’s that too. Hoo boy is there _passion_, but…”

“A form of courtship. Yes, I believe I understand. I believe that is also- desirable.”

Leonard smiles again, head tilting the other way and relief plain to see. “Thank you Spock. So…”

Spock does not allow any idea of awkwardness to get a foothold into the intimacy that has bloomed between them and leans forward to kiss Leonard chastely. “It is late and we both require sleep. I shall- see you tomorrow.”

“Well that’s logical, seeing as we work together.”

Spock smiles. He is still smiling even as he turns around and the door shuts behind him.

***

_“Jim._”

“I’m sorry, Spock, but that _is_ pretty funny.”

“Your amusement does not aid my understanding of how to rectify the situation.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just-pffffffffft!”

......

“Are you quite finished, Captain?”

“Yes- yes- I am now- quit looking at me like that, or I’ll start laughing again.”

“Do you have any suggestions on my next course of action?”

“My best suggestion is to tell him everything.”

“He will be angry.”

“You kissed him, Spock, you must know him better than that by now.”

“After the initial emotional outburst, he will consider the situation logically. For a human.”

“You’re worried he won’t forgive you.”

“I am a Vulcan, the concept of worry is-“

“-Foreign, I know, I know. But think of this _logically_: once he’s calmed down, he’ll kiss you senseless.”

“I... decline to comment.”

***

[sender: Commander Spock] _Star Date 106892.56.45_

_Leonard, I am telling you this in writing as I believe it is the most efficient way for you to process the information I am about to tell you and weather the inevitable emotions it brings. I have consulted Jim in the matter and he has advised I ‘’tell you everything’’._

_I never intended to kiss you last night. I came to your quarters after speaking to Jim with the intention of asking you about your experience in the Mirror Universe with my counterpart. I must confess reluctance to write so plainly what I suspect occurred between the two of you in Sick Bay, however, because of the nature of the act and what it means to telepaths like myself. My suspicions have remained my own- I have told the Captain nothing, though of course our concern for your well-being is mutual. You know that as the only telepath on-board I am the best qualified to aid you. We need to discuss this in person. Please reply and tell me as to when. _

[sender: Commander Spock] _Star Date 106892.56.48_

_This does not mean I do not still wish to pursue a relationship with you. _

[ERROR MESSAGE 106892.56.48 [[SENDER COMMANDER SPOCK]] UNSENT-SENDER HAS BEEN BLOCKED]

***

“May I point out, Doctor, that avoiding me for avoiding you is hypocrital?”

“You could, if I weren’t avoiding you for being a damn coward, now get outta my office you goddamn cold-blooded Vulcan. Unless you’re bleeding to death I don’t wanna see you.”

Spock crosses the threshold and lets the door slide shut behind him. Leonard’s glare only intensifies and he crosses his arms; he has approximately thirty seconds to state his intentions before emotions completely override logic and valuable time is wasted. “I apologise if I caused you distress, Leonard. It was... illogical of me to think you would take the message as I intended, when my intentions were not made clear. I have done research and spoken to Jim. It will not happen again.”

“Fine, you’ve apologised. _Now_ get out.”

He takes a step forward, “In light of my counterpart’s actions, it is regrettable to say I cannot.”

“You- there’s that word again. ‘Counterpart’. I don’t know what deluded theory you’re trying to convince yourself of, Spock, but it’s all a load of bullshit.”

“Can you deny that you have been experiencing personal difficulties since returning from the mirror universe?” after a long exhale, he reminds himself that humans are emotional and make cutting remarks when threatened.

Rounding on him, Leonard glares with a fury that is usually reserved for the highest ranking admirals, “Know what I’ve had? Seventeen surgeries, forty two physicals, three away missions, a pair of squabbling nurses, _three_ red alerts and near misses and a Captain and a Vulcan I’ve got to keep from doing anything stupid. I’m _tired_, for God’s sakes man! I’m tired and I’m grouchy and if you have any respect for me at all you’ll go so that I can check on sick bay- my sick bay- break out the bottle of bourbon I’ve got in my drawer, reassure myself nobody’s dying any time soon and ignore the last three days of my life. That’s not too much to ask, surely?”

“That does not explain why you have not been sleeping. That only happens to you when something is wrong.” Lots of details indicate something is wrong with Leonard, but Spock does not have the twenty four minutes required to list all of them.

“Oh- don’t-!” and Leonard looks disgusted, completely and utterly disgusted and Spock feels his insides writhe in confusion.

“I fail to understand-“

“You might be a damn computer, but I don’t like being a honey-trap or, or, or whatever logical Vulcan word you excuse it as! So next time you and Jim have a _concern_-“ the emphasis makes his mouth twist and he leans forward in his chair and Spock watches in fascination as his facial expressions follows the sad set of his mouth. “Tell me you’re worried about the ship and the crew and efficiency, not about me, alright?”

How can things begin to make sense and remain murkier than ever at the same time? _Because it is Leonard_ he thinks; the idea is simple and completely truthful. “The night we kissed, I was filled with untold joy that you reciprocated my feelings. Perhaps it was a mistake to leave it untold. I apologize- after sending you the message to explain myself, I tried to send a second one telling you I wished to continue our courting but I had been blocked from communicating with you.”

Whether it is from pain at how his face is contorted into an unnatural position or from emotional distress he is unsure, but tears begin to form in Leonard’s eyes and Spock is overcome with sorrow for his involvement in the matter. With careful precision that he has practised in the privacy of his own quarters before seeking out the doctor, he removes the Padd from his tunic pocket and offers it to him.

Snatching it from his fingers without touching, Spock watches in anticipation as he opens the padd and reads the unsent message. In a gesture he is certain he was not meant to see, Leonard takes in a ragged breath and with the tip of his index finger strokes the screen. “Bullshit,” he wheezes.

“No.” Spock is not quite sure what this means- one cannot be familiar with Leonard McCoy and not understand the literal meaning of the word ‘bullshit’ however he is uncertain what it _means_. “However, I am curious- did you plan for what would happen in the event of an emergency if I could not contact you?”

“I can do my duty, Commander!” yet though the words are angry, they are followed by a sound that is too much like a sob to be convincing.

He crosses the room in quick strides and kneels before Leonard; takes a moment to watch as he avoids eye contact and then, with great care not to startle him, Spock puts his hand on top of his. Even without anything other than surface contact he can feel the strength of the despair radiating within, or perhaps that is illogical projection and he is imagining such feelings based upon the context of this conversation. “Leonard,” he says softly. “I am not here as commander of this ship, or as your friend or colleague, I am here as- as one being to another being. Let me help you, please. If you don’t- (he presses on with his plea before he can begin to speak again) Jim will have to make this an official matter-“

“-Why would he-“

“-Before you make a mistake whilst acting as a medical professional. We know what it would meant to you to harm someone within your care.”

He snarls and rips his hand away. Spock feels cold where the physical contact no longer is. “As if you’d know anything about that, you ice-blooded sonofabitch!”

“Your use of xenophobic-based insults increases when you are trying to deflect from a topic which causes you emotional distress.” He warms to the topic, feeling something building inside of him and suddenly a desire to outrun it; it is perhaps not logical but it is instinct. “This proves my hypothesis correct.”

“Correct in what?!”

“Did my counterpart force a meld on you!” he snaps and he does not mean to. His control is in two pieces. He has not even raised his voice. Leonard looks afraid and concerned and shocked.

He wrestles himself back with a control Spock envies and recoils from him as much as his chair will allow him to, “What are you talking about Spock?” And he is so dedicated to the lie he shakes his head in mimicked confusion. “You’ve read my report.”

“You’re report is 3.8 weeks overdue, doctor.” Spock breathes in and he is in perfect control.

He puts his face in his hands and says nothing.

A million thoughts run through Spock’s head. The consequences of filing a report late, falsifying a report, leaving trauma to fester, falsifying medical records- he gets up and walks to the door and McCoy does not look up. “Doctor, when it comes to your professional duties I often have no choice but to trust your judgement but as your... friend – your-“ he is not saying what he came here to say and he has to start again. “Stubbornness has been a noted trait of yours and I appreciated it every time you continued to be my friend despite all our differences, though I suspect it entirely possible you did so out of spite.” McCoy snorts. “But I cannot be your friend or colleague in this, I have to be-“

“Vulcan” he cuts him off. He looks up and his face is an open wound and he opens his mouth, shuts it again, opens it again and speaks, looking haggard and in a greater state of physical exhaustion than Spock has ever witnessed him. “Oh god oh shit oh Spock- please stay, Spock, please, and- tell me something, just- hypothetically you understand, just hypothetically if a mind meld _were_ forced... what happens- _would happen_ after?”

Walking back to the desk, he sits on the chair opposite Leonard and steeples his fingers together, a part of his mind fascinated by how his voice is able to remain steady and clinical as he recites the facts taught to all Vulcan children. “It is traumatic and punishable by death on my world. The physical effects upon the mind are easily rectified and sufferers report increased cognitive abilities. Case studies all reports that these symptoms recede almost immediately.”

Leonard’s head tilts to the side: his thinking pose. “Sounds like quick fix to me,” he huffs. “There’s no magical wand you can wave to just get rid of trauma like that-“ he snaps his fingers.

Spock feels the urge to smile, in spite of the circumstances, seeing Doctor McCoy in his office caring with his acidic vitriol. “All case studies report the same facts. I am curious- is a ‘quick fix’ not what you desire?”

“Of course I do, Goddamnit!” he snaps. “Do you have any idea how _tiring_ this is? I can’t trust myself leaving Jim alone with you and I have to make myself because there’s no one safer and if I don’t make myself believe you’re not him I’m never going to get better, but good god damn it am I tired, Spock!” all the fight goes out of him and he slumps in his chair. Without looking up the rest of it pours out of him, as if he has no means by which to keep it in any more. He does indeed, Spock note, look tired. “I used sedatives at first, ‘cept I worried I’d get addicted, so I stopped and started coming in at all hours to do the inventory over and over.

“Christine’s getting suspicious, Jim knows something’s wrong and every time I look sideways I can feel the deep dark hole in my brain waiting for me and I don’t dare come near you and Jim, because what if it drags you in too?. And when- when I see what I did to my father in that universe I- I’m glad the other me has gone back to suffer with that you and it sickens me because I know I shouldn’t and it sickens me more because I know I’m no different than him.”

Inside his mind, Spock screams with the force of his desire to comfort him. He sits up straighter and tells him, “I can help you. You are not going mad, Leonard- you are _not”_ he emphasises as Leonard shakes his head, wide-eyed with disbelief. “Telepathic trauma is incredibly- traumatic.” The laughter that erupts from Leonard borders on hysterical and Spock does not find it illogical in the slightest. “I can help you. Your thoughts are scattered and trying to process the trauma individually, if we meld together then the presence of-“

“Oh no, no, no, no,” it takes several minutes before Leonard is able to say anything other than ‘no’. “Not a meld Spock, I can’t. There must be another way.”

“If there were, you know that I would have already told you.”

“No,” he moans, burying his face in his hands again.

Spock seizes his wrists and drags them away from his face, so he has no choice but to _look_ at him. He thinks this is perhaps what humans refer to as feeling ‘detached’. “Leonard, my presence will re-order your thoughts and allow them to settle, a- think of it as a virus or bacteria, the new thought replicating itself until it spreads through the whole mind. The memories will still be there, but like grief they will be processed over time and allow you to heal.”

He meets his eyes, “Alright.” Spock exhales in relief. “But-“ he straightens up and squares his shoulders and Spock marvels at the human race’s sheer _tenacity_. “You don’t look at my memories of- of what happened- I mean it! I don’t- you don’t want to see that shit, Spock, you honestly don’t. And on the agreement you never bring this up again unless you think it’s affecting my judgement as a doctor.”

When he doesn’t answer, Leonard squeezes his fingers, “Do we have a deal?”

“We do,” replies Spock at length. “For this, I barely need to even brush the surface of your mind. However, a caveat to this deal, doctor: that I never mention the topic again does not preclude you discussing it with me should you need to.”

“Alright.”

“Alright. Do you want to begin now?”

His face changes, softening and showing _Leonard_. “Wait until I fall asleep,” he begs. “I don’t want to feel your fingers on my face.”

“I will, Leonard, I promise.”

With a nod eerily similar to how he had looked forty eight hours ago after first kissing one another, Leonard turns back to his desk and picks up a padd and begins to type- if he is correct- a report. Spock sits back. He almost feels like laughing.

***

When Leonard is asleep in a position that will make his lower back ache come waking, Spock leans forward on his chair and carefully tucks a lock of hair behind his ear before placing his fingers in the position necessary for a mind meld.

Even though he needs only to skim the surface, thoughts dart wildly around his mind before he has a chance to block them and he winces at how the mind’s natural defences are in tatters. He sees his counterpart, and his eyes; nightmares Leonard did not speak of but which are not unexpected, nightmares where he and Jim care for Leonard very deeply and yet somehow it still hurts. _Jim Kirk watches in horror as the figure on the bed flat lines. Machines blare. Medics swarm round the bed in a blue-sky blur. Spock restrains Jim Kirk from getting in their way. Jim Kirk can no longer distinguish between comfort and a cage. _And, like fishes, he feels those same thoughts fleeing back behind defences as the virus multiplies. He sighs in relief: success. Before he ends the meld, he feels the tentative edges of Leonard’s repairing mind beginning to push _back_, his subconscious trying to explore this new horizon. Spock seizes onto the thought that flares like a firework out at him as he exits Leonard’s mind; it is scary and soothing and feels like holding Joanna for the first time and then he is asleep and it is as dreamless as a clear sky.

***

At 04.00, Leonard stirs awake. The first thing he sees is Spock sitting in the chair opposite him. “Sleep well?”

“Sufficiently,” Spock replies. “And yourself?”

“Yeah,” Leonard says, a smile spreading across his face. “Really well.”

***

That evening, he greets Spock at his quarters with flowers and asks him out on a ‘date’. Spock accepts. (It is only logical.)


End file.
